


Cute, Cheerful Girls

by bossy (orphan_account)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farman has an idea that makes Havoc incredibly flustered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cute, Cheerful Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Written 12/29/06. Originally published on LiveJournal. Hope my spelling of Farman's name is okay.

Havoc doesn’t like the look in Farman’s eyes, so he lights a cigarette as soon as the waitress comes back with their drinks. He can’t help it; he smokes whenever he wants to get away from life.

Havoc turns to look behind him at the windows. Boarded up, trying to hide what is left of the weakening sunlight, because someone or other decided that Central bars should remain in eternal night for fear of turning into just a restaurant. A thin bridge of light comes through a crack in the wood, blinding him for a second. When he looks closer he can see all the individual particles of dust, floating heavily and ethereally through the air. He hopes that by looking away, Farman’s intensity will disappear, dulled and thickened just like the sunlight.

But it doesn’t work this time, because Farman never takes his eyes off of Havoc. Havoc is beginning to wonder if he owes Farman money--or worse, if Farman has something important to tell him, maybe a message passed on from one of his friends. Farman is normally the first person to hear things, so it makes sense that he might know ahead of time if the rumor about him being transferred is true. But Havoc doesn’t panic, simply because he doesn’t like to panic. 

“Yeah? What’s going on?” Havoc says loosely, waiting for an answer but not sure if he has asked a question or not.

Farman takes a long gulp of his beer. It’s weird, Havoc thinks, because normally Farman is the type to halfheartedly sip. Not gulp. Breda is the one who gulps down his beer.

“How are things going with Grace?” Farman asks, looking like he has just smelled something awful. He tightens the muscles in his face, making his cheekbones more prominent.

Havoc is uncomfortable with the subject, too. “Haven’t talked to her in a while.”

“I don’t like her all that much,” Farman says, “You should look for someone else.”

Havoc doesn’t bother to nod. Farman has always hated Grace, for some reason Havoc can’t figure out.

Farman pauses, then turns to look him in the eye. “If you’re ever... feeling lonely, you can come talk to me.”

“We talk all the time.” Havoc really doesn’t like where this is going, or the way his stomach is fluttering.

“Then we wouldn’t have to just talk,” Farman says, slowly and clearly.

And Havoc turns his head away quickly to hide the childish blush that is tinting his cheeks, even if it only is from the beer. It would still be embarrassing if anyone saw him blushing, especially here with Farman, because they might not know that drinking always colors his cheeks a little. They might think something else was going on and it would be a pain to correct them.

He starts blushing again as soon as he turns back to Farman. 

“It’s the damn cigarette,” Havoc says, grimacing, and pushing it out of his mouth. “Smoking and drinking at the same time would do that to anyone.”

Farman is still stuck on his previous comment, waiting. “What do you think?”

“What’re you talking about? I like girls. Only girls.”

“Cute,” Havoc says, reaching for the back of Farman’s head and pulling him closer, violently, “Cheerful girls.”

He had intended to maybe show his masculinity by punching Farman right here in the bar, but Havoc doesn’t object to his body’s sudden desire to kiss him. Farman’s mouth is warm and soft, but not sickeningly sweet like a girl’s. It’s actually kind of nice, Havoc thinks, and - he’s kissing Farman! Quickly, he pushes him away, with a look of utter and complete disgust.

“With a good personality.” Havoc adds, knowing that his cheeks are turning that stupid shade of red again.

“Of course,” Farman says, nodding intelligently and taking another sip of his beer.

“I like people that’re the complete opposite of you,” Havoc doesn’t know why he’s still talking. “So don’t get any ideas.”

Farman smiles. “I’m not.”

For some reason, Havoc feels extremely aggravated, maybe because it’s too hot in here. Yeah, that’s it. And he’s tired. In fact, what he needs right now is just to go home and get some rest.

He can’t keep himself from kissing Farman again on the way out, because Farman is probably drunk and it’s a known fact that drunken men get violent if they aren’t kissed enough.

Havoc doesn’t really mind kissing Farman, either.


End file.
